


The Boy with Kaleidoscope Eyes

by TimAndJava



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Jack and Janet are bad parents, M/M, Original Character(s), Therapy, but Bruce is a good dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 04:53:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13803819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimAndJava/pseuds/TimAndJava
Summary: Timothy Drake is unusual. And it's not always easy when your parents wish you weren't so unusual.





	The Boy with Kaleidoscope Eyes

Bruce Wayne was not made for parenthood.

Yet here there he was, with three sons, and a neighbor kid who never seemed to leave.

-

“Bruce!” Dick yelled from downstairs. “Jay’s back!”

Bruce abandoned the document he’d been typing in his study and stomped downstairs to greet his middle son. After two months of summer camp and only sporadic letter writing, Bruce knew he’d have some explaining to do when Jason got home.

Tim. Bruce would have to explain Tim.

-

“Father,” Damian said one evening just after Bruce gets home from work, “Grandad has a letter for you, he’s waiting in the kitchen.”

Bruce frowned in confusion. “I already checked the mail, Dami. it was just bills, and some magazine for Jason.”

The twelve year old shrugged. “Grandad said it didn’t come in the mail.”

-

“I can’t do this anymore!” Tim heard his mother scream in the living room. Tim was holed up in his bedroom, hiding from his agitated parents.

Tim hated their fighting. And he hated being the cause of it.

-

Dick used to feel bad for the boy who lived next door.

When they were younger, Dick got to go to school, play outside with his little brothers, check out books from the library, walk the dog, and do a number of other things.

The boy next door never seemed to leave his house.

One day, while Dick and Jason were playing with chalk on their driveway, the little boy came out of his own house, and approached them.

“Can I play?” The boy asked.

Neither Jason nor Dick had the time to answer, before the boy’s mother had swept him up and dragged him back into the house.

“I’ve never seen him before,” Jason said to his older brother.

“Me neither,” Dick said back, astonished.

“Did you see the sunglasses?” Jason asked.

Dick nodded in response. The boy had been wearing thick, black sunglasses, despite the fact that the sky that day was a cloudy, gray color.

“Why do you think he was wearing them?” Jason asked.

“He could be blind or something,” Dick suggested.

“Then how did he see us over here, Dickhead?”

-

“I have a letter for you, Bruce,” Alfred said as soon as the younger man stepped into the kitchen.

“Yes,” Bruce said, “Damian told me. It wasn’t with the rest of the mail?”

Alfred shook his head. “I am afraid not, Bruce. It was hand delivered.”

“Hand delivered?” Bruce asked, tilting his head. “By whom?”

Alfred sighed, and handed the letter to Bruce. “It’s something you must read for yourself, Bruce.”

-

Tim doesn’t like the dreams. Or the visions. Or the runaway thoughts.

His parents don’t like them either.

His therapist doesn’t seem to mind them, though.

-

“Hi dad!” Jason said, engulfing Bruce in a long hug. 

“Hello, Jason,” Bruce replied. He knew he had something to tell Jason, but his words left him in that moment, he was getting a little bit emotional about Jason’s return from summer camp. Fifteen felt like much too young for a boy to be away from his family for so long, but clearly, Jason had survived.

And Bruce couldn’t have been more proud.

Finally, Jason released Bruce from the bear hug.

“How are things?” Jason asked his adoptive father.

“Good, for the most part,” Bruce answered.

“For the most part?” Jason questioned.

Bruce sighed. “You know the boy from next door, Tim?”

Jason shrugged in response. “Yeah, that kid we saw while we played with chalk. A long time ago.”

“Yes,” Bruce agreed, “that’s Tim. He’s going to be staying with us for a while.”

-

When Jack got home one night in November, Timothy was curled up on the living room floor, saying things under his breath.

“Joker, Joker, go away, Robin does not want to play,” Timothy chanted.

Jack could only sigh. This was the third incident in the last month, and Janet would not be pleased. Tim was lucky it was Jack who came home first.

“The Flying graysons are dead! Dead, dead, dead, dead!” Tim said from the floor.

Jack walked over to his son, and scooped him up into his arms. The boy should be heavier, at fourteen, but Jack had no struggle lifting him up and setting him down in his bed.

As Jack tucked Tim under the covers, he paused to kiss his son’s forehead.

Jack wondered how much longer he could take this.  
-

Bruce,

Please watch over Timothy for us. We’re going away for a while. We know your accountant's salary is hardly enough to cover what will now be four children, so we’ve attached a check. Please take care of Timothy. We really do love him, we just don’t know how to deal with a boy like him.

-Janet Drake

-

Janet Drake was a perfectionist.

And the birth of her first child was in no way going perfectly.

With a dangerous combination of preeclampsia and low blood sugar, Janet had been rushed to Gotham Central, four weeks ahead of schedule, and forced into a C-section.

As she lay there, on the operating table, clutching Jack’s hand, she couldn’t help but think about all of the things that could go wrong.

But her thoughts were scrambled when she heard a tiny cry.

“He’s here,” Jack proclaimed, “Timothy is here.”

“He’s still got his eyes closed, dad, but we’ll let you see him anyhow. Seems fit as a fiddle,” a nurse said to Jack.

The nurse placed the small bundle into Jack’s outstretched arms, and Jack brought the baby closer to Janet’s face. 

Just as Janet turned her head to look at her son, Timothy opened his eyes.

They were completely silver. No white, anywhere.

Just swirling orbs of silver mist.

Janet screamed, and her world went black.

-

“I don’t like knowing the things I do,” Tim told his therapist one Tuesday morning. He was supposed to be in school, but another incident mad janet haul him to see his therapist instead.

“And why not, Tim?” Dr. Patel asked.

Tim liked his therapist, he really did. Dr. Patel was a short, plump, Indian woman with good taste in inspirational posters and even better taste in anxiety medications. The only thing Tim didn’t like was how he had to keep his glasses on, and the way he had to lie to her about what his incidents really were.

Because was going to believe a teenager that claimed he could see into parallel universes?

-

“Why does the boy from next door where those sunglasses all the time?” Dick asked Bruce one night before dinner.

“Tim, you mean?” Bruce asked.

“I guess, if that’s the kid from next door,” Dick answered.

“It’s complicated,Dick,” Bruce said.

“So you know him, then?” Dick questioned.

Bruce nodded. “I’m friends with his parents.”

“So why the glasses, then?” Dick asked again. “Is he blind? He wears them because he can’t see?”

Bruce shook his head. “No, Dick. He wears the sunglasses because he sees too much.”

-

“So I'm gone for a couple months, and I've already been replaced?” Jason sneered.

“Jason, it's not like that at all,” Bruce pleaded.

“Whatever,” Jason replied. “As long as he doesn't have to share my room.”

-

“Why don't you ever take those glasses off, Tim?” Dr. Patel asked.

“It's better this way. For both us of us.”

-

“So what, Janet, we just leave him?” Jack hissed.

“Not forever,” his wife answered, “just until he gets it out of his system!”

“We both know whatever it is, it's not going anywhere,” Jack replied.

“Well I have to get out of here, out of this house, out of my head!” Janet cried.

The petite woman fell to the floor, clutching her chest, tears running down her face.

“I can't do it anymore, Jack, I can't!” Janet sobbed.

Jack sunk onto the floor, and stroked his wife’s hair with one hand.

“It's okay, Jan, we’ll think of something to do with Timothy.”

-

Jason was none too pleased when he discovered he would indeed be sharing a room with Tim. Jason stormed up the stairs after that fight with Bruce, only to see that his bedroom had been invaded by an air mattress and a too-small boy.

“You must be Jason,” Tim said quietly. 

“That's the name, replacement, don't wear it out.”

Tim stuck out his hand for Jason to shake, but the other boy wouldn't take it.

“I don't want to be here, you know,” Tim said, looking at his feet. “I wish I didn't have to invade like this.”

Jason shrugged. “I guess you'll fit in, replacement. The Waynes are like a whole bunch of orphans and other sad shit. Welcome to the island of misfit toys.”

-

“We can leave him with Bruce,” Jack whispered one night while in bed with Janet.

Janet sat straight up in bed. “You're a genius. A genius.”

-

Tim hated sleeping, because sleep meant dreams.

And his dreams brought even more horrors than his waking hours did.

Strange nightmares, visions, really, with smiling clowns, men in capes, women in tight clothing with strange powers.

And the medication wouldn't make them go away.

-

“I know about your condition, Tim,” Bruce told Tim a week after the boy arrived in the Wayne household.

“The anxiety or the bipolar disorder?” Tim quipped.

“Neither,” Bruce said. “The visions.”

Tim could only shrug in response. He didn't know his parents had told anyone.

“I think they're more real than you think,” Bruce said gravely. “I know ours isn't the only universe, Tim. Maybe you can just see more than the rest of us.”

-

Tim liked Bruce from the moment he entered the man’s home.

Bruce was just like the Bruce from his visions.

Only the real Bruce wasn't rich. He also didn't dress up as a bat and kick ass in the middle of the night. And apparently Alfred was his adoptive father, not his butler.

Details, details.

Bruce was still the hero Tim needed. To rescue him from his fucked up head, and his equally fucked up parents.

-

“So what's up with the glasses?” Jason asked Tim, one day while they were hanging out in their shared bedroom. “I've never seen you without them. Even when you sleep. Even when you shower.”

“Hey, you watch me shower?” Tim joked.

Jason blushed. “You know what I mean, Tim.”

Tim froze, and then smiled. “That's the first time you've called me Tim in the two months I've been here.”

“Yeah yeah, replacement,” Jason teased. “Now seriously. The glasses. Eye deformity, or something?”

Tim smirked. “Sort of.”

“So take them off, then,” Jason pressed.

Tim sighed. “Fine, but you asked for it.”

Tim took off the glasses slowly, and once they were off, his eyes were shut.

“Open your eyes, dork,” Jason teased.

So Tim did.

And all Jason said was “oh.”

-

“Mommy, can I go play outside?” Seven year old Tim pleaded.

“Timothy, you know the rules,” Janet said, without looking up from the magazine she was scanning.

Tim did know the rules. But he also knew that rules were meant to be broken.

-

“Dad says you see things,” Jason whispered one night in the dark of their bedroom. They're supposed to be sleeping. 

“Everyone sees, Jay,” Tim said tiredly.

“He says you see things we can't,” Jason insisted. “What do you see?”

Tim sighed, and sat up in bed. He knew there was no point in avoiding Jason’s questions, the older boy was stubborn.

“I see lots of things. Sometimes they're beautiful, sometimes they're terrible,” Tim said quietly.

“Like what?” Jason asked.

“Some nights I see Alfred, acting on stage in England. He likes Shakespeare, apparently,” Tim begins. “Sometimes I see Bruce, he dresses up in a bat costume and beats up criminals. Sometimes I see Bruce dying with his parents. Sometimes I see Dick, learning gypsy magic. Sometimes I see my father, being murdered in the kitchen. I've seen Damian choose to stay with his mother instead of his father. I've seen it all and so much more.”

A long silence passed between the boys, until Jason spoke up again.

“Do you ever see me?” 

Tim let the tears in his eyes fall, as he nodded. Jason climbed out of his own bed and sunk down to Tim’s air mattress.

“Don't cry, Tim,” Jason cooed, half hugging the other boy. “I'm sorry for asking.”

“Don't be sorry,” Tim said through his tears. “It's just hard to admit that I see you the most.”

“You do?” Jason asked, surprised.

Tim nodded. “Sometimes you're happy, and you live in this tiny apartment with your mom, who smokes crack and has too many boyfriends but you love her anyways.”

More silence.

“Sometimes you live with Bruce and Dick and you galavant around the city in tiny green shorts, kicking ass and serving justice. But sometimes in that one a clown man kills you. And it's so hard to watch.”

Jason hugged Tim a little tighter.

“And sometimes you're my brother, my adopted brother, and Bruce dresses us in dumb matching outfits and lets us get a dog.”

“That one sounds nice,” Jason said. He was crying then too.

“And sometimes we’re -” Tim cut off.

“Sometimes we're what?” Jason whispered.

“Sometimes we're so, so in love,” Tim whispered, “and that's the one that hurts the most.”

“Why does it hurt the most?” Jason asked after a long pause.

“Because I know it's not real,” Tim said brokenly.

“I disagree,” Jason said.

And suddenly they're kissing. And Tim isn't thinking about the millions of different realities in his head.

He's only thinking about Jason, Jason, Jason.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Tim Drake and also love when Bruce Wayne actually has feelings. So WHAM, fic. I wrote this months ago and found it again tonight, so here you go.


End file.
